The Letter (Alt Take)

It began with this.

Falstaff's story here. Black Mamba's here. Anjoy (and contribute!)

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“Don’t open it until I’ve left. Promise?”

She looks at me strangely but she promises.

She’ll open the letter tonight. I haven’t known her for long but I know her well enough.

When I see her again, I’ll know if she’s read the letter. I wonder how long it will take for her to figure it out? Wish I could see her face as she’s reading it.

As she reads one line and goes on to the next, finding that it makes no sense; that it doesn’t follow. Will she read it twice, three times? Will she shake the single sheet of paper in frustration? When will it occur to her to read a line and flip the page over to continue reading? And then again and again, until the page turns and turns in her hands.

I was never going to see her face as she read the letter. But tomorrow when we meet, she will grin – I’m sure of it – and very likely cuff me with that ridiculous pink and white bag she carries everywhere. I will look injured and ask why I’m being physically abused in this manner, and she will say, just.

That’s one letter you’re not going to tear up, lady.